Babe Magnet
by Super Sheba
Summary: Because America and England think that their must be more to France's romantic prowess than his glittering countenance.


**Babe Magnet**

America is pestering England, hamburger in hand. Of course, this is not intentional, but for England, America's obnoxious behavior has become the expected. If a day goes by and America has not hit England with a flurry of stupid questions, then it can be assumed that America is deathly ill.

"England, I'm the HERO! I'll save England's economy." America shouts, stuffing the hamburger into his mouth.

"No, that's alright." England says, mumbling a moment later. "Cheeky idiot."

"Mmph mmph mmph mmph, mmph? (Did you say something, England?" America asks through a mouthful of food.

" America, you ungrateful bastard!" England shouts, an angry expression spread across his features. "I take care of you for hundreds of years and now you think you're better than me?"

America grabs England by the collar and begins to shake him. "I'm better than you anyway!"

They get into a scuffle. Punches are thrown, black eyes are received, and hair is pulled.

A sparkling figure walks by gracefully, beautiful women hanging from his arm.

"Was that…" America begins.

"France?" England finishes America's sentence.

A cross look overtakes England's features, and his face turns scarlet.

"How the devil does he do that?" England demands, his fists clenched.

"I don't even get that many women, and I'm the world's hero!" America exclaims in shock.

"Shut the hell up about being a hero!" England interrupts, grabbing America by the ear and dragging him behind him.

They won't have to worry about getting back to where they started. Behind America is a growing trail of crumbs. If he were not so upset with England's pompous attitude, he would be weeping over the loss of his closest companion, his hamburger.

"You're not a hero." English tells America in exasperation. "And you are most definitely not _the _hero."

America suddenly takes back his strength and drags England behind a hedge.

"America, let me go or I'll…" England threatens, waving his arms around frantically.

America claps a hand over England's mouth.

"Don't you want to know how that fruity idiot picks up all those women?" America whispers, a determined look alight in his eyes.

"Not really." England replies indignantly.

"So you ARE interested in men!" America exclaims, his voice booming with excitement, thinking he has been right all along.

America is lucky that France is too occupied with his gaggle of giggling women to notice the two men attempting to play Mission Impossible hiding in the bushes.

England shushes America violently and strains his ears to listen to what France is saying. America opts out of listening, since he is too important to be bothered with learning a foreign language. Besides, everyone should speak English!

England on the other hand, is not such an elitist idiot, however, and took the time to learn French in his childhood. In order to overpower France during the Hundred Years War (which England won, of course, since the French were sniveling cowards!), England had fervently studied French in hopes of getting his hands on French secrets.

"Ah, mes chéries! Je vous aimerai avec tout mon cœur! " France says cheerily. "J'adore le vin, et je veux que vous soyez ivres avec moi ! Est-ce que vous voulez manger du fromage? Ce vin rouge est magnifique. "

The girls swoon, and the overall area of France's glittering doubles. One girl sighs, and another blushes.

And England is completely shocked, his jaw and the ground making contact.

"What're they saying, England?" America questions in a loud whisper.

But England is too stunned to speak and his eyes are transfixed on France's sparkling person.

"Come on, England, wake up!" America orders England, slapping him across the face and enjoying doing so far too much.

Out of reflex England punches America in the face, leaving America with his glasses on the ground and a black eye.

"That blubbering fool isn't saying but utter nonsense!" England shouts in anger. "All he's saying is that he wants the women to be drunk with him and that a certain red wine is great, but those women are slobbering all over him like he's writing them love poems!"

France turns around and sends England and America a wink, smirking slyly.

"Are you sure France shouldn't side with Italy?" America suggests, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes, since the other is swollen shut.

"If you seal him in the f-bomb box and send him to Italy, then you really _will_ be the world's hero." England replies, shaking his head.

But America doesn't see, because he has already taken off after France, a lasso in hand. He had stopped listening the moment the word hero left England's mouth.

"Get over here you French pimp and be a real man!"


End file.
